CHARLOTTE
A hand claps on my shoulder. Chad. “They’re following your Mom. Let’s get your sister.” His head swings. “Where on earth…?”
The couch is huge, the L-shaped kind that fits the corner of a room. Overturned, it lies haphazardly, one corner jamming across the door from the hall, its main bulk blocking off a kitchen area. From somewhere behind, comes the wail of my little sister.
Chad shoves at a corner. Leaning into the thing, he blows out his cheeks. “Fuck me, but that’s heavy. Jenny get the other end, we’ll shift it between us. Let’s flip it back over, then we can get behind.”
Clumsily, between us, holding onto spongy armrests and ungrabbable corners, we muscle the thing back upright, then out of the way. Brass feet screech against the walls and floor.
Chad grimaces as he gets his shoulders behind a last push. “What the hell’s it made of?”
“And how did it get like this?”